


Femme Fatale

by Yilena



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, Romance, Slow Burn, Social Media, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-19
Updated: 2018-04-19
Packaged: 2019-04-25 02:22:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14368833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yilena/pseuds/Yilena
Summary: Knowing that there was only a small chance to meet her soulmate, Marinette lived most of her life ignoring the mark on her body. It's only when her best friend links her to a camgirl that she realises that someone out there is sharing the same fate as her. AU.





	Femme Fatale

**Author's Note:**

> Alternatively named "Pee Girl's a Camgirl and Main Girl's a Whipped Mess" for my friend's birthday. It was supposed to be filthy, a joke on the soulmate trope, and absolutely ridiculous, but it turned into fluff and shyness somewhere along the way. It has mentions of sexual content, but it's not explicit enough to warrant the rating, I think. The soulmate marks aren't described at all since I was too lazy to actually think of anything other than the tragic placement. Also Queenie kept being corrected to Weenie and it made me cry.

  _Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug & Chat Noir © Thomas Astruc_

Marinette had always wondered how she'd find out about her soulmate. She heard stories of strangers bumping into each other on the train when the weather was hot, seeing their fated by the poolside, or even in the changing rooms at schools when they were young.

In a world where two individuals had matching marks—tattoos that didn't fade, and ink couldn't replicate the shine or quality to what people were born with—it was bound to be romanticised. Sometimes, more often than what was shown in the media, those that found matching pictures on their skin in the same places ended up being best friends.

Some looked down on those relationships, fantasising about their romantic partner and shaming anyone those that were happy with just being by their side as a friend. There was often debates about such topics on television, and the subject was taught in the early years of children's life to make sure they knew that it was a possibility that they wouldn't end up with their dream romance in the end.

For something so publicised, craved for, and adored, it was a surprise when she found out in her teenage years that soulmates finding each other rare. Sure, they could post their picture on the internet and attempt to search that way, but there was still distance, languages, and others barriers that stopped them from meeting. In the society that she lived in, more often than not those that weren't soulmates married and had children, filling their offspring with hopes that they'd meet their happy end, with or without acknowledging the mark that was on their body.

It was for such reasons that it wasn't frowned upon for those without matching marks to be together. There had been a time where it had been punishable and considered a great sin, but the world had moved on from that when it became clear just how rare it was for fated pairs to meet at all (including the small percentage that were platonic and brought the birthrate down further).

With the placement of her mark being an inch or two above the her backside, she couldn't see it for herself without looking in the mirror. Although it wasn't anything to be embarrassed about, she felt more comfortable covering up her body to avoid the questions, though it seemed to be a common occurrence for marks to be complimented before moving on, usually not staying on the topic of soulmates for long.

It was rare for a mark to be considered unattractive to the person that it belonged to; it was either monotone or coloured in a palette that each couple liked, the two marks identical in every way. From tiny pictures of animals, flowers, and almost everything that could be thought of—she'd seen an article of embarrassing marks, and one had looked suspiciously phallic-like before—they came in different shapes and sizes, enough so to be distinct per pair.

It was mostly the placement of hers that she wasn't comfortable with. She envied those that had the mark visible on their wrists, thighs, or even on their elbows, as they weren't stared at for a bit before the onlooker realised that it was a soulmate mark, not a deliberate tattoo that had a stigma to them.

A lower-back mark meant that she gained a few raised eyebrows in the summer.

But, it was because of her shirt riding up when she stretched that one of her childhood friends had pulled her aside to say that her mark seemed familiar to him. Kim had been suspiciously red in the face, avoiding her gaze as he quickly whispered that he'd send her the link later that evening before they turned back to their other friends, changing the topic immediately.

She felt nervous at that, fiddling with her dark-coloured hair as she sat in her bedroom, idly clicking on different videos on her laptop to distract herself. Marinette didn't want to get her hopes up, not when she only knew three couples that had successfully found each other through her life (and one happened to be her grandparents), but there was still a small surge of wonder about whether it was true or not.

When Kim finally messaged her, she'd almost given up and gone to sleep. Curiously, she read the message saying that he was sorry in advance if it was wrong, then clicked the link to see what she was supposed to see.

It wasn't a familiar site, but it didn't seem too bad. A large portion of the screen was a camera—showing a pastel-coloured room and an empty chair, the person absent—then there was a chat where users had to be logged in to type, and buttons to click to get notifications and donate. A pretty simple site, it seemed, but her curiosity was piqued.

Their username wasn't very creative; she'd seen countless QueenBee's throughout the years, but this one seemed to at least be popular due to the amount of comments that were flooding the chat, questioning when they would appear.

The answer to that was in three minutes (within which Marinette fiddled with the sleeves of her shirt, trying to imagine what they'd look like).

It didn't occur to her how her friend had seen a matching mark on such a site; no, instead she was watching with wide eyes as a female sat down on the chair, then red-stained lips came into view as they curled into a smile and stared at the camera.

“Oh, did I keep you waiting for too long?” she murmured, no crackling audible in the microphone. “I hope you won't return the favour later when I'm asking for certain things later.”

The statement didn't connect to anything until she took a glance to the comments, noticing how vulgar some of the were, while others were donating and asking her to start her show. QueenBee watched the chats with a growing smile, showing her white teeth, and she read out a few of them, giving a few vague answers to how her week had been.

It took Marinette less than ten minutes to realise that her possible soulmate was a camgirl. All she could do was stare in a mixture of shock and embarrassment—for herself, not the confident woman on the screen—and she knew she didn't feel comfortable enough to sit through the whole stream until her lower-back was visible. She—she definitely didn't want to intrude upon an intimate scene, even though it was live for anyone to see as long as they clicked on her channel.

With long blonde-coloured hair and blue eyes a few shades brighter than her own, Queenie—as her regulars called her—knew that she was attractive, leaning closer to the camera and asking for opinions on her new shade of lipstick after a few minutes. She took her cardigan off first, purposely slow as the fabric fell to the floor beside her, and Marinette felt that it was already too weird to look at.

She told herself that she was only staying to confirm the mark, because, surely, she'd see it sometime in the beginning so she could back out from seeing the intimate acts.

When Queenie slowly undid the buttons of her shirt, parting the material and allowing her lingerie to be seen, Marinette reached out and muted the sound, feeling a bit embarrassed for Kim to have shown her this. He had a lot of courage, at least. Marinette mostly kept her attention on the chat, peripheral vision filled with an increasing amount of skin as time passed, and as each donation showed on the chat—including an optional message—she had to applaud anyone that had the guts to earn money in such a way.

She would've been too shy for it.

Performing with her class as a child had been too much for her, and the thought of making a show of stripping and sexual acts for countless people would've been her worst nightmare. Avoiding look at what Queenie was doing, Marinette's eyes widened as she saw the counter for viewers steadily climbing, along with the rate of comments on one side.

From the way Queenie's red-coloured lips curled into a pleased smile as she toyed with the strap of her brassiere, it was clear that she was happy about the outcome, too. Although she was muted, she was clearly talking and expecting some kind of response from the influx of donations.

Glancing back up every few minutes, Marinette settled with sending Kim messages with multiple questions to occupy her time. It was less awkward than staring at her possible soulmate flirting to make her income, the heavy feeling of nervousness not leaving until she was able to either confirm or deny it.

She hoped she could find out before the sparkly vibrator shown was used.

The rest of the lingerie was shown; all white, lace thin enough to see underneath it, and the garters were shown off with a teasing finger playing with them as the camera was tilted downwards for a bit.

Kim's reply with an apology for ruining her innocence came through, and she didn't quite have the heart to tell him that she was only embarrassed that she hadn't figured it out as soon as she'd clicked on the link. Queenie seemed to have endless amounts of confidence, never once cracking from the personality she showing, or having her smile slip when a vulgar comment was attached to a donation.

If anything, she looked smug when they came rolling in.

Marinette's face felt hot when she stole a look upwards again, startled for a moment from the bare breasts that were shown as Queenie fiddled with the choker she was wearing, mouth moving as she addressed her audience again. From the amount of skin that was showing, there was no visible mark on her front, no moles that were caught on the camera, and no bruises or tattoos.

She wondered whether others that shared Queenie's profession covered their marks like actors did.

Other than the breasts on display, Queenie didn't undress further before she turned around and showed her lower-back in the process of pointing out her underwear. Sure, the mark was partly covered by the lace, but the design and pop of colour was recognisable despite the slight obstruction.

Marinette's swallowed thickly, mouth feeling uncomfortably dry.

It was her mark, then.

She—how was she supposed to respond to that? She couldn't just type a comment in the chat and hoped that it would be seen; she'd already witnessed more professions that Queenie was someone's soulmate than she could count in just over half an hour. There was always the option to donate, just to make sure that her comment was really seen, but there was no reason for Queenie to believe her.

With the realisation that Kim was right, that the confident woman on her laptop screen that was slowly pushing her underwear down while biting her lower lip was someone important to her, it made her stomach churn uncomfortably, threatening to have her cuddling the toilet while gagging if her nerves didn't calm down.

The first thing she did was close the tab, staring at the blank screen in muted shock.

Instead of stressing out about the statistics that she'd beaten just for witnessing someone else with her mark on their body, Marinette reached for her phone with clammy hands, only trusting herself to call one person. She really didn't want to explain the situation to anyone else, and it was just her luck that the that had told her had known her since before puberty.

Thankfully, Kim answered the call quickly. “Hi,” he greeted quietly, sounding uncertain. “Did you—you watched it, right?”

“Yes.” It came out a bit strangled. “I did.”

“You're not allowed to judge me for my taste in porn, okay?” Kim rattled off, not sounding too concerned about her tone. “I get that you're probably too vanilla for watching someone live—”

A laugh escaped her. “I'm not here to kinkshame you.”

“Oh, you're not?” he questioned, sounding genuinely surprised. “Well, that's a bit weird. I literally sent you porn and you're completely fine with it?”

“Are you forgetting why you sent it in the first place?” she shot back, running a hand through her hair. “You're actually right for once, congratulations.”

There was a beat of silence. “What?”

“I'd give you a gold sticker, but I never thought the day would come, so I haven't got any—”

“Stop deflecting with bad humour,” Kim interrupted her, voice louder than before. “Are you—you're not messing with me, right?”

Taking in a breath to try and calm herself, her eyes flickered to the blank screen of her laptop. “No, I'm not,” Marinette admitted. “QueenBee definitely has the same mark as me.”

She could hear him breathe in loudly. “Well, fuck,” he started, and she could only imagine his frazzled expression that matched his voice. “I've jacked off to your soulmate for like a year.”

That caused her to laugh a lot, even more so when Kim made offended noises on the other end of the call. It was a relief that the one she'd confided in happened to make her laugh at the worst times, a lot better than her having panic attack about the decisions she had in the upcoming future.

“That's... good?” Marinette tried, though it sounded like a question. “It's what she wants you to do, so, yeah—this feels really fucking weird. I'm not congratulating you for touching your dick.”

“As long as you don't give my dick a gold star,” he equipped, amused.

She let out an intentionally loud sigh. “Let's get back on track, okay? As much as I'd like to talk about your dick, I'm more concerned with the fact that someone else is out there suffering with a matching mark to me.”

“It doesn't really look like she's suffering, Mari—”

“I will _end_ you.” Marinette leaned back against her pillows, staring at the ceiling instead. “How am I even going to talk to her? There's no links to her personal accounts for anything.”

Kim laughed. “So you've looked already?”

“I was looking anywhere but her, yes,” she confirmed easily. “I can't believe this is even happening. I mean—fuck. I actually know who my soulmate is, how weird is that?”

“Do I have to give you the gold sticker?” he chimed in. “And it's easy. You don't want to be a creep and confess via a donation, right? That's a sleazy move and you'll never be believed, so the only solution is for you to tell me how much you have in your bank account.”

With a disbelieving laugh, Marinette questioned, “ _Why_?”

“There's such a thing as private shows, you innocent child,” he explained without hesitation. “It costs a lot, but it's probably the only way you can actually talk to her, I think.”

“Kim,” she started slowly, “I watch children paint pottery for a living.”

He snorted. “Okay, it might take you a while to save up, but the option's there for the future. And since I'm such a nice guy, you can use my account to set it up.”

“Why would that be a good thing?”

His next words only proved that he was shameless. “You'll get a small discount per month subscribed to her. I'm trying to save you money here, brat.”

“My bad, I forgot that your libido's the reason for all of this,” Marinette muttered, heart still hammering nervously from the recent development. “I—that's really the only option, isn't it?”

“Yes,” Kim confirmed, drawing out the last syllable. “You need to step up your game and sweet talk some parents to get tips if you want to get a date with Queenie.”

She breathed out loudly. “I just want to talk to her about something boring—like the _weather—_ not pay her to undress for me.”

“Technically, you're paying her for you to undress and show her your ass,” he pointed out, voice wavering from audibly trying not to laugh at her. “Putting on your webcam won't cost any extra, don't worry.”

“What a relief,” she deadpanned.

-x-

It took two months to save up the amount to request a private show. Within that time, Marinette checked the website every few days to check that it was still available, never staying for the actual intimate parts, sometimes closing the tab immediately as soon as a toy was shown or new lingerie was brought to attention. She stayed for a bit whenever Queenie spoke in the beginning, answering actual questions about her day, ones that weren't too invasive.

The things she learned about QueenBee were small; she had a normal job that she never elaborated on, enjoyed eating breakfast the most, and had a sweet smile when it didn't look too predatory (which seemed to be hand-in-hand with the attitude she had for her show when things heated up, it was only in the very first few minutes that she seemed somewhat approachable).

As he offered to do, Kim used his account to set it all up. Marinette might've stared at the e-mail notification that her payment had been sent, dread filling her as she realised just how empty her bank would be for the rest of the month. He'd arranged for it to be that evening, given away Marinette's username to be added for the show to be possible at all.

It was a few hours later that she found herself nervously adjusting a large hoodie she had on, jeans digging in uncomfortably as she kept her knees pressed against her chest, and staring at her screen as she waited for a notification to pop up.

And when it did, of course, QueenBee's name was the same as on her website.

The incoming call within a few minutes, and Marinette fiddled with her screen, trying to make sure that she was visible despite how she wanted to bolt out of the room. She'd saved up meticulously for that moment, picking the cheapest vegetables at the store and withholding buying expensive drinks for the sake of it—she'd tried to count every penny for the upcoming meeting, and it was weighing down on her and causing her mouth to feel dry from the nerves.

She took a sip of water that she'd smartly gotten beforehand and pressed accepted.

The screen wasn't empty like it was when Queenie usually started her streams. She was sat there, blonde-coloured hair pulled into a braid over one shoulder, make-up impeccably on, with modest-looking clothes that always covered the lingerie underneath. She was a direct contrast to Marinette's comfortable clothing and hair that was pulled back into a ponytail.

Queenie's lips curled into a smile that didn't seem sincere. “Hello,” she greeted, intentionally making her voice low.

Raising a hand to awkwardly wave at the camera, Marinette choked out, “Hi.”

“You've got me for an hour,” she began, resting her chin on her palm. “However, I might be willing to extend the time if you entertain me since you've been such a loyal viewer, Dickim.”

All she wanted to do was laugh at Kim's ridiculous sense of humour and choice of usernames, but she needed to explain the situation. As much as she wanted to try and appear calm and collected, she could already feel her fingers digging into the material of her jeans, and when she opened her mouth, all that came out was, “That's not me.”

There was a moment where they were only staring at each other before Queenie raised her eyebrows, unimpressed.

“I—fuck, I _mean_ —” Marinette babbled, grimacing. “My friend set this up for me? With his account? I'm not some random person you've added, really, I know who you are. Fuck, wait. That makes me sound like a stalker and that's really not what I am—”

Instead of being annoyed, or even reprimanding her for the sudden chattiness, Queenie let her trail off before musing, “You're rambling.”

She swallowed. “Sorry, I'm nervous.”

“Do you know what your friend signed you up for, sweetheart?” It didn't sound sincere at all, the pet name one that passed through her lips so easily without a second thought. “I can't offer you a refund, but if you're willing, I can show you a good time.”

That wasn't what she wanted, though. “No,” Marinette said quickly, regretting it when she saw Queenie lean back against her seat. “I just want to talk to you.”

“Are you sure you want to spend your money on just talking?” she questioned, innocently tilting her head slightly to the side. “I'm much better with my actions instead of words.”

Out of all the responses she could've come up with, what came out sounded awfully sarcastic as she said, “I'm sure you are.”

Queenie's lips pulled down into a frown, looking unimpressed at the camera. “What exactly do you want to talk about for an hour, Not-Dickim?”

“I'm Marinette,” she started, fiddling with her ponytail as she tried to look anywhere but at Queenie's expression. Her hands felt clammy, her heartbeat was audible in her head in an uncomfortable way, and she was glad that the bathroom was beside her bedroom from how nauseated she felt. “My friend Kim showed me your show—if I can call it that—a few months ago.”

“My services aren't usually offered so I can be someone's therapist,” Queenie said as a response, tossing her braid over her shoulder. “It's usually getting clothes off of our chests instead of feelings.”

She snorted, a bit relieved from the inserted humour. “I'm not going to tell you my life story, I'm just—I'm building up to something.”

“Something that's not an orgasm, apparently.”

Pointedly ignoring that, Marinette cleared her throat. “Look, I—this is going to sound really insane, but I don't want you to run away or something.”

“Unless you do something that's against my rules, I'll only be leaving once our time together is up,” Queenie lazily replied, shifting her position to get comfortable as she stopped peering at the camera from her best angles. “If you've booked this because you're uncertain of your sexuality, I'll say beforehand that you're not the first to talk to me about this—well, usually they're still interested in getting undressed with me.”

She blinked. “You're really fixated on trying to remove your shirt.”

“I put it on just for you.” Queenie batted her eyelashes purposely slowly as she leaned back to make her breasts jut out. “Don't you like it?”

“It was for Kim, not me,” Marinette pointed out, laughing when she saw the clenched jaw for a moment before it disappeared, gone as quickly as it had came. “Right, so. I've kind of been dreading this for like two months.”

The purposely pleasant expression was back on. “I promise I don't bite unless asked to.”

“That sounds horribly scripted,” Marinette blurted despite how her face seemed to warm up in second-hand embarrassment for her. It was the kind of comment that she'd only be able to say to close friends and have them laugh at her, but Queenie had said it with utter confidence, not seeming to be ashamed at all. “This is—this is going to be a bit weird, okay? But I'm not trying to flash you intentionally.”

Queenie simply raised her eyebrows at that, not giving a verbal response.

With a deep breath, Marinette stood up, making sure her camera was pointed in the correct direction. She turned around quickly before she could lose the confidence she'd built up, pulling up her hoodie and t-shirt underneath, other than reaching for her belt to tug her jeans down to reveal the mark on her lower-back.

The reaction she received was one of the ones that she'd been dreading. “Oh, fuck off,” Queenie exclaimed sharply, any trace of the purposely attractive tone gone, sounding completely different than she had before. “Do you really think I'm that much of an idiot? I'm blocking you, asshole.”

Hastily putting her clothing back down, she hastily tried to reply, “No, wait—”

The call had already been ended, and the contact was missing from her list, meaning that she'd been blocked immediately. A feeling of dread settled in her stomach, churning awkwardly more than before, and all she could concentrate on was the dryness of her mouth as she tried to swallow to get rid of the feeling. There—there was always a chance that it could've gone as wrong as it had, but she'd tried to be optimistic about it.

She didn't call Kim to tell him the results immediately. Instead, Marinette sat there for a bit, waiting to see whether Queenie would change her mind or not, before she decided to close her eyes on her bed, trying not to think about the emptiness of her bank account that had been nothing for the end.

Well, she only had the rest of the month to settle for cheap food, and she was sure Kim would buy her a pity meal when she told him all about it, though there was a high chance that his account had been blocked, too.

The following week—after she'd drunkenly told Kim about the encounter and cried until her eyes were red—she checked the rules of the private sessions, as she'd been too nervous to read them properly beforehand. As she didn't have an account, she wasn't denied from seeing Queenie's shows, but it felt odd to watch them at all (especially when her automatically get a lump in her throat), so she avoided them.

One of the rules for the private shows was not to show marks, along with not asking about hers in return. There was no mention whether soulmate roleplay was prohibited, though she knew from the media that that was bound to be a popular one.

She'd settled back into the routine of her life after a few weeks, splurging when she got paid and eating far too expensive food for one evening, and tried to forget that it happened again. As always, she wore clothing that covered her lower-back, either high-waisted clothing or secure shirts so she wouldn't have to deal with the teasing that was lumped together with having a tattoo in that area.

It wasn't common, for tattoos could be added around the natural mark so it was only visible up close with was which, but she didn't feel like having an even larger tattoo there, not one that would take up nearly half of her back if she wanted to cover it completely. It wasn't as though it was ugly; it was just in an unfortunate place that made her scoff whenever she saw someone with it in a tame place, such as on their arm.

She didn't think anything of it, really. Sure, sometimes she got sad because she wasn't one of the large percent of the population that wasn't with their soulmate, but she at least knew who it was—a detail that she kept to herself, other than Kim.

The lowest she felt was when she was witness to a bespectacled couple that met in the middle of a diner when she went out with friends, but she put on a happy face since she was friends with one of them. The two went on a date and figured out that they were interested in each other romantically, and Marinette's reaction to that was to drag Kim by his arm into a bar and demand for him to buy her a drink.

“It's your dick that got us into this,” she exclaimed loudly after finishing a shot. “I demand repayment.”

He scowled. “I'm trying to use my dick to get you out of it.”

“That doesn't even make sense, my friend.” Marinette squinted. “We already tried dating back when I had no breasts, remember?”

With an exaggerated grimace, he shoved her lightly. “That's disgusting.”

As it turned out, he was serious about trying to fix what had happened. Marinette had assumed that he'd meant cheering her up when she needed it—but he'd always done that over the years—and a few weeks later, when she realised that she had a few missed calls from an unknown number, she didn't think anything of it. She'd missed them due to her shift a work, one where she'd ended up with paint in her hair from a children's party, and she'd only just dried her hands when her phone started vibrating again.

“Hello?” she answered, a bit distracted as she cleared up the mess around the room. “Who is this?”

There was audible shuffling on the other end of the line. “Is this Marinette?”

“Yes,” she replied honestly, turning off the lights before she locked up. “Do I know you?”

“I've been told I should apologise to you, but I don't really see why I should,” came as the reply, the voice distinctly feminine, but she couldn't determine whether it was familiar or not.

Well, that didn't sound like anyone she knew. Marinette tried to think of anyone that had offended her recently, but since she was coming up blank and wanted to do nothing but go home and change into comfortable pyjamas, she didn't dwell on it.

Walking towards her car, Marinette said, “That sounds like it's more of a problem for you than me. I'm going to hang up now, stranger, since I have to drive back home. Maybe call me back when you know what you want to say.”

“What—”

After hanging up, the calls continued for the duration of the drive home. Marinette was torn between being incredulous and intrigued by their persistence, especially since it was adding up to over an hour that they'd been trying to get in contact with her.

When she'd settled in her living room after showering, she pressed accepted and greeted the same unknown number with, “Are you a stalker?”

“I'm definitely not apologising to you if you're this much of a bitch when you're not nervous,” was the greeting she received. “I'm—fucking hell, I'm just trying to say that I've been told that we had a misunderstanding before.”

She stilled. “QueenBee?”

“Did your sidekick forget to tell you that he gave me your number?” Queenie replied, the question sounding rhetorical. “I'm giving you the chance to prove that you're not delusional since, apparently, you deserve it.”

As sudden as the development was, Marinette blurted the first thing she could think of. “That can't be why you've bothered to call me for over an hour, surely.”

“No,” Queenie muttered begrudgingly, still such a stark difference to the usually confident words that she usually uttered. “He included candid pictures of you in his endless e-mails.”

When Kim had said that he'd try and fix it, she hadn't expected him to actually be capable of reaching out to her. “I'm assuming you're calling because of the mark and not for how cute I look.”

There was a snort on the other end. “You're going to meet me at the weekend,” Queenie announced, leaving no room for discussion as she immediately added on, “I'll send it to you later. If you're late, I'm not going to contact you again.”

And with that said, the call was over before she could even say a word in response.

Marinette dumbly stared at her blank screen before she added the number into her contact list.

-x-

Kim was filled with smugness, of course, when she told him that Queenie had contacted her at all. It was because of him that it had all happened at all, and he'd taken to smiling widely and waggling his eyebrows when he asked how she felt about the upcoming weekend, clearly too pleased with himself from the change of events from the previous week.

Marinette dressed better than she did for the private show. In a sundress and a cardigan, Marinette used the map on her phone to find the café that she was given the address of, a bit surprised that it was only a short walk from her apartment, not worth driving to.

When she arrived, it was easy to find Queenie sitting inside. With her long blonde-coloured hair tucked into a high ponytail and a tight t-shirt on display, it was only when Marinette walked near the table that she realised that the main difference was that the make-up was more toned down, a large difference to the dramatic colours and shades she wore in the evenings.

Queenie's eyes met hers and her lips pulled into a frown. “Sit.”

Marinette complied, a bit bemused as she saw her stand up, reaching into her bag for her purse. “Shouldn't I go and order?”

“No,” was the answer she got before Queenie left to join the queue, making their brief conversation even more awkward than it had been before.

Filling her time with messaging Kim to tell him how disastrous it was already, Marinette jumped when a mug was placed in front of her some minutes later, feeling a lot shorter than it truly was. She politely thanked her for it, tucking her phone away before fiddling with the handle, not knowing how to strike up the conversation.

As it turned out, Queenie wasn't one to wait around for too long. “You're the reason I have this fucking tramp stamp.”

If she'd been drinking anything, she surely would've choked. “Pardon?”

“You heard me perfectly fine the first time.”

She couldn't help but stare. “You really believe me?”

“I told you, I've seen enough proof now to know that you're not insane.” A dismissive hand was waved. “I'm Chloé, by the way.”

“Chloé,” she repeated, trying to match the name to the face. It was easier to associate Chloé with having a certain softness to her look, no longer with precise and dramatic make-up to match her attitude. “I-I'm Marinette.”

Chloé's lips curled into a smile as she brought her mug to her lips. “So you've said.”

Her face felt warm. “Right.”

There was a moment where they just sipped from their drinks, Marinette staring anywhere but at her as she tried to think of what to say, and for a moment she wondered whether she was the only one feeling awkward in the situation. Of all the things she'd expected for her life, it certainly wasn't having coffee casually with her soulmate within her early twenties.

“I'm going to make things clear right now to avoid hassle in the future,” Chloé announced, tucking some stray hairs behind her ears (she had no piercings, unlike the single ones Marinette had on her lobes).

Marinette's eyes snapped up to meet hers. “Okay?”

It came out sounding like a question.

Chloé's smile widened, but it didn't reach her eyes. It seemed somewhat forced. “I'm not giving anything up for you; not my job, my hobbies, and definitely not my friends. I'm not changing my life for _you_.”

It was then that she paid attention to her stuttering heart, realising with a sense of dread that Chloé had only expected the worst. Sure, there had always been stories of relationships going wrong, but most of the time the ones that were related to soulmates were because they couldn't figure out whether their feelings were platonic or romantic. Yet, Marinette hadn't realised mused about that; she'd been more concerned of whether she'd be believed or not, really, to ponder over whether she wanted romance or a friend.

“I...” she paused, nervously licking her lips. “I never asked you for any of that, though? We've barely had a real conversation.”

Chloé's eyebrows furrowed slightly. “What?”

“That's a bit—” Marinette cut herself off, running a hand through her hair before she could stop herself. “It's too much, isn't it? I wouldn't want you to ask that of me, so why would I do that to you? I don't even know you.”

Continuing to stare at her, Chloé averted her eyes after a few moments with a quiet, “Oh.”

“I'd like to try and be your friend, if that's okay with you?” Marinette asked, fiddling with her mug once more. “I—I hope I'm not being too forward? I know I kind of freaked you out, but I didn't know how else to contact you. You can't hate me that much, right? I mean, you bought me a drink and everything, and that seems like a positive sign.”

Amusement was clear when she pointed out, “You're rambling.”

Marinette didn't shy away. “Well, yeah. You make me nervous.”

After a moment of silence, one which was filled with them sipping from their drinks and avoiding eye contact for a bit, bringing Marinette back to her awkward teenage years, Chloé spoke up to announce, “I have a proposition for you, Marinette.”

She stared at her warily across the table. “A proposition?”

“I can't give you a refund, but I can offer to pay when we spend time together to make up for it.” Fiddling with the end of her blonde ponytail, she added on, “You seem a bit strange, I guess, but you're the only person that shares my suffering of having this fucking awful mark above our asses, so I might want to get to know you a bit.”

Despite how she tried not to, a quiet laugh left Marinette's lips before she could stop herself. “It's really the worst, isn't it?”

Chloé's smile almost seemed sincere as she outstretched a hand across the table and asked, “Do we have a deal, then?”

“We could just get to know each other in the normal way?” she offered instead, shrugging before she reached out to return the handshake weakly. “You know, the whole talking to each other thing. It can't be too hard.”

Chloé's lips twitched from how she was trying not to smile. “I might have to reconsider if you're always this much of a smartass.”

-x-

The strangest part of getting to know Chloé was trying to connect the two sides that she'd seen of her. Once they started messaging when they'd parted in the café—where Marinette had accepted another drink paid for her with pursed lips since it seemed to make the other feel better—it became clear that Chloé had a sharp sense of humour, had quick comebacks that she didn't think about sometimes, and was easily relied up when she was passionate about something.

It wasn't really smooth in the beginning. Marinette was nervous and didn't know what to reply, or even how to start a conversation, but the best ice breaker came in the form of Kim crashing into her and causing her to have a nosebleed out of nowhere, as it at least made a sudden story to say hello.

One of the first personal details she found out was that Chloé's normal job was as a barista. Well, that and that Chloé liked to send multiple pictures of herself and ask which one was the best to upload onto social media (personal accounts that weren't related to QueenBee), and it was after the first pictures were sent that Chloé gave her details at all.

It felt a bit strange to add her, but Marinette did when she had her break at work. She looked at the amount of followers with wide eyes, a bit intimated even by Chloé's personal life, and it was a few hours later that she received a message that stated that Marinette's presence online was pitiful, and that she had to improve herself if she wanted to be taken seriously.

Kim wisely translated that to Chloé wanting to see more of her personal life without being too straight forward.

So, Marinette started to upload more pictures than usual, including her friends and even the dog that she walked past every morning on the way to work. Chloé liked them all without commenting, and the little notification that popped up whenever that happened had her smiling despite herself.

For all the things they spoke about—topics that weren't too heavy, political, or sad—Chloé seemed reluctant to bring up her other job. At first, when she'd sent a message that she'd be gone for a few hours, Marinette hadn't connected it to her stream at all until Kim had sent a message asking whether it would be weird for him to continue watching.

Marinette decided to bring it up the following day on her break, knowing that Chloé had just gotten out of her work, and that she was free for the following hours (that she started to spend sending her countless messages that she couldn't check while walking around and supervising the customers).

She'd planned a great speech to get her point across, but in the end when she'd shut the door behind her as the call connected, she blurted, “I haven't actually seen you masturbate.”

“...Hello to you, too,” Chloé said slowly, sounding a bit exasperated. “Is this a bad time? I'd rather talk to you when you're not having a mental breakdown.”

She took in an audible breath. “I really need to get this off my chest, just like you with that shirt when we first met—”

“Marinette, kindly shut up.”

“You never talk about it!” she shot back, a bit louder than intended. Her back was pressed against the door, the coldness of the wood seeping through her clothing grounding her, to make sure her co-worker wouldn't come in without her realising. “I just—I want to know you, okay? That happens to include the sparkly vibrators and other toys you own that actually scare me a little when I think of the price of them.”

Instead of being offended, or keeping quiet from the sudden change of topic—she hadn't even given Chloé a normal greeting, she realised belatedly—the sound of Chloé's laughter became apparent. It was breathy and slightly high-pitched, a sign that it wasn't the forced one that she usually did, and that made a large smile appear on her lips.

Running a hand through her hair, Marinette continued, “I'm trying to say I only stayed to confirm your mark before I stopped watching. Oh, and I also panicked and muted you when you started talking because it made me feel incredibly nervous.”

“You seem to always be nervous,” was the answer she got at first, Chloé's voice soft and sounding almost fond despite the fact that they'd only been messaging for just two weeks. “I said before that I'm not willingly to quit for you.”

Fiddling with a strap of her apron, one that was covered in paint and had her name stitched messily on one side, she answered quietly, “Yes? I don't have any right to ask you to do that, and it's not like I want you to delete it from your life when you talk to me.”

Chloé hummed, a purposely drawn out noise. “Are you trying to say you want me to tell you how many users asked me to call them daddy last night?”

She choked a bit. “Please no.”

“Then—”

“I don't have a problem with it!” Marinette interrupted, voice a bit higher than usual. “But I-I can't make myself watch because I start thinking, what if we're only going to turn out as _friends_? I don't have a habit of watching my friends masturbate, and I'd really like to keep it that way.”

Chloé helpfully pointed out, “Your friend has no problem watching me.”

“Kim has no sense of right or wrong,” she immediately responded. “It's—you seem to be under the impression that I want you to change your job before you even know me.”

Before she was given the chance to wonder whether she was being too straight forward, the blonde-haired female asked, “Why wouldn't you? It's no one's dream to have a soulmate as a pornstar.”

“I think it's insane that I know who you are at all, and that's all thanks to your job,” Marinette replied honestly. “I haven't really looked into your other job much, but surely this has happened before? Unless you all cover their marks a lot, but that seems like a hassle.”

“Make-up tends to rub off quickly on certain parts of your body,” Chloé supplied, choosing to focus on the last topic instead. “It's usually preferred so viewers can at least have the illusion that anyone could be their soulmate, but I can't be bothered to deal with all that work. My statistics haven't suffered because of it.”

Not knowing exactly what to say to that, she settled with, “That's... good? Wait, of course it's good—sorry, I don't want them to suffer because of me either.”

“I don't even know what to think about you,” Chloé replied quietly. “Do you think you can make yourself into a functioning human being at the weekend?”

She blinked. “Yes?”

“Good. I'll tell you where to meet me, then.”

As there wasn't any room for argument—and she didn't want to protest in the first place—she returned back to work after that. The only sign that Chloé had listened to her at all was the following day when Marinette received a message that said that she was busy for her stream, saying that she'd reply later regardless of whether she was awake or not, and that alone made her perk up.

It wasn't the smoothest friendship, not when Chloé had her scheduled show on the days that Marinette had off, but they spoke enough between when they were busy to make up for it. They'd moved onto calling each other a few days before they met for the second time, but Marinette's hands still felt a bit clammy as she thought about all the awkwardness that could be there between them.

Chloé wasn't exactly a chatterbox. She preferred to stay quiet most of the time, listening to Marinette ramble on about random topics and inputting her opinion every now and then, along with scathing remarks that made Marinette laugh aloud from how sudden they were, and that seemed to translate into in person, too.

Unlike the previous time where they'd met in a café, Chloé took her to clothing stores with the intention of repaying her for the money that she had to spent for them to meet at all (without saying that aloud, for some reason—it took Marinette a while to realise what was happening after she'd rejected for Chloé to pay for both of their lunches).

Standing up beside each other, Marinette learned that she was shorter than Chloé, the top of her head brushing her chin when they were staying still. When she'd seen her online, she'd never pondered how tall she would be, or how they'd look in comparison to each other; Chloé's skin was tanned, standing out against her golden-coloured hair, while Marinette was the opposite with her dark hair and paleness.

Although she enjoyed being with her—something she'd worried about—the strangest part was that she didn't really know where they stood. Her own friend that had found her soulmate the previous month had already jumped into dating him—and posting various pictures of the two of them together—while she wasn't quite sure what Chloé wanted out of her. They hadn't discussed it further than Chloé outright saying that she wouldn't change her life, and Marinette felt that she didn't have much to offer other than her nervous ramblings.

Chloé was confident, filled with dramatic tosses of her hair, and an attitude that was borderline arrogance at times, while Marinette got nervous when talking to cashiers, preferred to stay inside instead of spending the night out, and the biggest commitment she was thinking of making was whether to adopt a cat or not.

There was an attraction there, though; more so from the personality that she'd seen rather than the flashes of lingerie and purposely seductive expressions that felt too sudden and insincere. Marinette liked it when she smiled at the messages she received, laughed at a deadpanned recommendation of an awful outfit, or when Chloé looked at her in a mixture of exasperation and surprise when rambled on or made a silly joke.

Fiddling with the bags that she'd offered to carry, Marinette asked, “What do you want from me?”

“A haircut would be good.”

She squinted. “I can't tell whether you're joking with me or not.”

“If you want to go on dates with me, a haircut's a great first step,” Chloé replied, their shoulders almost brushing as they paused on the pavement while waiting for traffic. “I can see your split ends from here.”

If that was supposed to answer her question completely, it didn't. “And if I don't get a haircut?”

“Then the only dates that I'm willing to be with you on will be in private where no one else can see us together,” she said, tucking some loose blonde strands behind her ears. “It's bad enough that you're forcing me to have a tramp stamp, isn't it? At least make it up to me by being presentable.”

Rather than being offended, as she'd started to get used to her personality, Marinette instead gestured to her free hand to the multiple bags that she was carrying. “Are you saying this isn't classed as a date right now?”

“This is completely platonic—we haven't even hugged yet.”

She snorted. “I don't know you well enough to hug you.”

“That's a pity for you,” Chloé said, no trace of sympathy in her voice as her lips curled into a smile. “I know countless people that would jump at the chance to embrace me.”

The laughter that escaped her was honest and breathy. “I kind of want to confirm that you're not a murderer before I put a hand on you, sorry.”

Chloé grinned. “I can assure you, I'm only a killer in the sheets.”

“...I don't know what to say to that.”

-x-

Purposely not bringing it up in their conversations, the next time she met up with Chloé, Marinette had had her hair cut. She'd avoided showing the bangs in her pictures for the week, something that the blonde hadn't caught onto at all, and she was rewarded by a blank stare for a few moments before Chloé proclaimed that it didn't look too bad.

From the way she hooked their arms together when they were walking, it seemed to be a good sign. Although it wasn't romantic at all—it was borderline platonic, actually—they were in each other's personal space without backing away, and she classed that as a good sign.

She learned that the corner of Chloé's eyes crinkled when smiled sincerely and that she snorted when she laughed too hard.

With Chloé telling her about the streams, and including some comments that she'd almost laughed at when they were said, they slowly opened up to each other about their days. Marinette admitted that she had a close friend and the rest were mostly distant, filled her in on what she'd studied and school and university, and told her about her parents that lived an hour away.

In return, Marinette learned about Chloé's parents who mostly worked abroad, giving her money instead of calls throughout the years. That had been the reason for her starting her night job—as she referred to it as—in the beginning, as she wanted to fend for herself and send back the money that they'd sent her, determined to pay for everything herself.

“It works out that my body is my best feature,” Chloé had said offhandedly, as though they were talking about the weather. “Apparently, when you have breasts like mine, it doesn't matter that I'm not good at making small talk.”

Marinette had fiddled with the cushion in her lap as she tentatively offered, “I liked the start of your shows, though. It—I mean, back before you reached out to me? I kept checking in to see that you were still there, and hearing you talk vaguely about your life was nice.”

The sound of her clearing her throat was heard. “Sadly, me taking off my clothes is a lot nicer for the majority of people.”

She might've choked a bit at that.

Other than Kim asking how their relationship was going, Marinette hadn't told anyone about finding her soulmate, not until she was sure on where they stood with each other. Her friend that had found hers had been happily posting pictures of their matching marks on social media, finding a lot more popularity than she'd originally had due to it, and as pleased as she was for their happiness, she didn't really want to have to have all those questions directed at her.

Chloé, however, preened from attention. From the constant flood of compliments on her social media accounts to her job at night, she received countless compliments that boosted her confidence. Sometimes, when Chloé received one that made her smile, she was sent a screenshot to show it off.

It was kind of endearing.

For someone that was so self-assured on the outside—the knowing looks and precise flicks of her wrist to move her hair, whether in public or when she streaming—Marinette was able to see a few self-conscious parts of her leaking through, even ones as small as asking which picture was better. Chloé was adamant that her looks were her best feature, and at first Marinette hadn't taken her seriously when she'd said that, not at all, but when she'd heard it a few times, it became clear that Chloé truly thought that.

When Marinette went to visit the café that Chloé worked at, after weeks of asking where it was located at all as neither of them had visited each other's homes or jobs, she almost laughed at Chloé's disgruntled expression when she caught sight of her.

Marinette waited until it was her turn at the counter to say, “Nice hat.”

Along with the polo shirt—something that Chloé had turned her nose at while shopping, and it was suddenly starting to make sense why—the cap that was on her head made her appear more relatable than usual. Perhaps it was the lack of dramatic make-up, or the way her ponytail wasn't too high so it could be tucked through the cap at the back, but seeing her in an outfit that was completed by an apron made her seem the most human she'd ever been.

It helped that Marinette got a free cake, too.

When they went out for dinner together, Chloé put her cutlery down with a dramatic flair in the middle of their meal before she outright stated, “I want you to know that I'm not fucking anyone other than myself right now.”

Marinette gaped at her.

“The shows are all solo—that's another reason why I'm not quitting them,” the blonde continued without a hint of embarrassment clear, eyes seeming to take in the baffled expression Marinette was showing. “So, if that's a problem, we should probably stop seeing each other.”

For a moment, Marinette just waited to see whether she'd say anything else. Once it became clear that Chloé had said all that she needed to, she gingerly placed her fork down and replied, “I wasn't even aware that we've moved onto romantic dates?”

The look Chloé gave her could only be described as exasperated. “We're having dinner together and you've tried to play footsie with me once already.”

“I was adjusting and accidentally kicked you,” Marinette shot back, stubbornly crossing her arms. “Friends have dinner together all the time, too. How am I supposed to know that you want anything more unless you— _oh_ , you did say.”

“Yes.” Blonde eyebrows were raised. “It's not my fault that you're slow on the uptake.”

“I—” Marinette nervously licked her lips. “I'm not seeing anyone either? Sorry, that sounded like a question. I—I actually never really thought about whether you're involved with anyone else.”

Chloé sighed audibly. “Sometimes I wonder about your priorities. You say you don't care about my job, but it seems more like you don't know what it entails at all.”

“Well, that's because I don't,” she replied honestly. “I've been trying to tell you that all along; I only clicked on it because of Kim, remember?”

A disbelieving laugh left Chloé's lips. “I thought you were just trying to come across as innocent.”

“I'm a bundle of self-consciousness and embarrassment, but I've never really been called innocent before,” she mused, a bit entertained by how she'd been perceived. “It just felt too soon to actually watch you, if you understand what I mean? I—I'd rather earn your trust before seeing you like that, but it was the only way to actually know that it was you.”

The reply she received and slow and soft-spoken. “You really mean that, don't you?”

She blinked. “Why are you always so surprised when I'm not lying to you?”

“I'm surprised because you haven't made a single move on me since we've started meeting in person.”

Marinette furrowed her eyebrows. “But you haven't made any on me either?”

A smile spread across Chloé's lips, reaching her blue-coloured eyes that were a few shades brighter than Marinette's. “That's... true.”

“Unless linking our arms together counts; you've done that a few times,” she helpfully supplied, laughing when a glare was directed at her. “It kind of seems like we're having a playground romance since it's so juvenile.”

“You do have the height of a child,” Chloé muttered, picking up her cutlery again.

Marinette's laughter was loud.

The next time they met up, it was at Marinette's apartment. She'd given Chloé the directions with the promise of watching films together after they'd argued on what to do, and once Marinette had admitted that she was low on money so she couldn't go out and eat a restaurant again, their plan for the evening was set without too much resistance.

When she opened the door after a few precise knocks, she experienced mixture of surprise and confusion as a bouquet of flowers were thrust into her hands.

Marinette fumbled to get a grip on them, holding them to her chest as she stared up at Chloé, smile appearing when she saw how the other was looking anywhere but at her.

“You could've just done the cliché yawn and put an arm around my shoulder to make me realise that you're interested,” she teased as she held the door open. “But thank you. No one other than my family has given me flowers before.”

Chloé shrugged off her jacket as she murmured, “I'm regretting it already.”

“Oh, just wait a few minutes and you absolutely will,” Marinette proclaimed, smile reaching her eyes as she went towards her kitchen cupboards. “I don't own any vases, so I'm going to have to get creative here.”

The laughter she received when she put some flowers into a milk bottle that had been set aside for recycling was worth it.

Their shoulders were touching throughout the film, meaning she was able to feel it, as well as hear, when Chloé laughed. When Chloé yawned after they'd started a second film, Marinette had raised her eyebrows and received a light shove for it, and she honestly thought that was one of her favourite parts of the evening due to the way Chloé had rolled her eyes at her.

“I'd offer for you to stay the night, but that's kind of moving too fast and my sofa's pretty uncomfortable to sleep, so I really don't want to,” she quickly blurted out once the second had finished and they were both suffering from feeling sluggish. “Is that rude?”

Chloé snorted. “It would've been out of character for you to try and get me in bed already.”

“Hey—”

“It's fine, Marinette,” she assured her, reaching out and teasingly patting the top of Marinette's head. “Someday you'll work up the courage to act like an adult.”

She wrinkled her nose exaggeratedly in displeasure. “You just like making kid jokes because I'm smaller than you.”

“It's not my fault that you're so easy to tease for it.” Chloé's smile was genuine as her hands fell back to her sides, smoothing out her clothes before she made sure she had the rest of her belongings on her. “You don't have to be so nervous around me, you know.”

Marinette put a hand in her pocket to give herself something to do. “I'm not really, not any more. It's kinda of hard to be intimidated by you when you look so murderous while serving coffee.”

“If you ever order something longer than your name, I will murder you,” Chloé vowed.

She grinned. “See? You're so grumpy from just a mention of it—and it really helps me forget about the fact that I've seen your nipples.”

“...It doesn't sound like you've forgotten that at all.”

Fumbling with the doorknob of the front door, Marinette could feel the warmth that had appeared on her face. “I'm just going to imagine you in your cap and pretend this conversation never happened.”

Chloé huffed. “You're never welcome back to my store again.”

“You're an overgrown child demanding things that you can't have,” she replied, standing on her toes to read up and pat the top of the blonde's head in a similar fashion to what had been done to her earlier. “Adorable.”

“I'll go to your work and just draw dicks all over my pottery.”

Marinette laughed. “Some teenagers already beat you to that, sorry.”

-x-

The shift in their relationship came without them talking to each other. As she often did on her breaks, Marinette browsed her social media and was surprised to see Chloé's latest picture wasn't the usual—instead of golden hair and tanned skin, it was Marinette with her dark-coloured hair and pale skin, a candid picture that she hadn't been aware of.

Then, when Chloé's friends had commented and asked who it was, the reply she gave was that she's her girlfriend, including a tag to Marinette's account out of nowhere.

Well, that was one way to ask someone out.

When she asked Chloé about it after work, the reply she received was, “We both know you'd say yes anyway. I was saving you from being nervous.”

Making demands and avoiding questions seemed to be a common theme for Chloé. Whether that was due to her upbringing or just her general attitude, she didn't know, but she knew that if they hadn't gotten to each other, she would've thought she was just stuck up. There was an air of arrogance to her often—particularly when it was in regards to her looks—but it was never too over-the-top.

“That's beside the point,” she murmured into her phone. “It would still be nice to be asked once in a while—you know, consent and all that.”

She wasn't sure whether Chloé had even processed those words, since they were glossed over that and changed the topic, not until the next weekend came and resulted in Chloé starting their conversation with, “You're coming—fuck.”

“Pardon?” Marinette spluttered, not sure whether to laugh or not.

The intake of breath on the other end was audible. “Do you—you'd like to come meet my friends, right?”

A smile blossomed on her lips. “I guess that counts as a question.”

“And that's not an answer, Marinette,” she was chastised. “They've been bugging me to meet you for ages now.”

“Oh.”

Her friends had, too, but they knew that Marinette liked to be private sometimes. She'd heard stories about Chloé's friends for weeks, heard about their interactions and how they friendships worked, but she hadn't quite wondered how she'd integrate into them.

For all her worries, they turned out to be welcoming and nice, their personalities all as colourful and different as her own friends. The question of whether they knew the details of her and Chloé's relationship was answered by a loud call of referring to her as the soulmate, which garnered a bit of attention. Marinette had awkwardly waved with a warm face and she greeted them all, slowly opening up as the day passed.

She left with more contacts in her phone and a promise of bringing her friends to the next party they were planning to have.

Chloé hadn't seemed shy at all. The blonde had sat beside her for most of the day, reaching over to fix Marinette's hair out of nowhere when it started to get in her eyes, sometimes entangling their hands when there was a lull in the conversation, and each time their knees touched, it was only the knowing looks from Chloé's friends that made her feel a bit embarrassed.

There was no more clammy hands and thundering heartbeat from wondering whether they were compatible or not; the juvenile feelings of insecurities had mostly gone from spending time together, and starting to understand Chloé's reactions.

Some days later, when Marinette was making dinner for the both of them in her kitchen, she plucked up the courage to enquire, “Why don't you like asking for things?”

“That's a bit of a loaded question to ask with a knife in your hand, isn't it?”

She resisted the urge to look over her shoulder and glare. “Other than your deflecting ones, I mean.”

“It's...” Chloé trailed off, voice already soft. As much as Marinette wanted to peer around to see her body language, it seemed like a private moment that could be shattered if she made too loud a noise. “Don't you think it's easier to just not ask?”

Keeping her attention on the food that she was chopping, she asked curiously, “What do you mean?”

“There's less rejection if you didn't ask in the first place—not as much of a build up that gives them the chance to ruin it.” There was a pause, filled only with the sound of the knife chopping, and she had to wonder what type of expression Chloé was showing. “It's just how I grew up, I guess.”

Her parents, then. As little as Chloé had mentioned them, only giving her basic backstory before giving a few more details every now and then, a lot of her self-doubt seemed to stem from them.

With that in mind, Marinette blurted, “I used to have a really bad stutter when I was younger.”

“What?” Chloé's confusion was clear in her voice.

“I was almost held back because of it since I refused to talk aloud in class,” she continued on, jittery fingers fiddling with the diced ingredients. “I had to get a teacher to help me get rid of it—took a few years, but now it only appears when I'm really nervous or drunk, which can be quite embarrassing.”

When Chloé replied, it was soft-spoken. “Why are you telling me this?”

“I don't really have anything else to compare it to,” Marinette admitted. “It's not exactly empty words if I grew out of something, right? I know it can't compare to what you're talking about, but at least it's something. I mean, it's how I met Kim, too. He punched someone who made fun of my stutter in gym class.”

The laugh that came from her didn't seem forced. “He seems like a good friend.”

“The best,” she confirmed, wiping her hands on a towel. “Even if he's terrified of meeting you.”

Chloé snorted. “I haven't spoken to him since he convinced me to meet you, and his username's been missing for months.”

Surprised, she peered over her shoulder. “You remember his username?”

“Dickim's very memorable, Not-Dickim.” The smile she received could only be described as smug. “I'll make sure to call you that at the worst times.”

She grimaced.

Similar to the last time they were together at Marinette's apartment, when the time became late and their eyelids started to droop, Chloé gathered up her belongings and didn't push to stay over. Marinette held her tongue from offering to apologise when Chloé shot her a look that she'd come to understand as a sign to keep quiet instead of prattling on at certain times.

They'd gotten closer, knew each other well enough to know when one was on the verge of being annoyed, but there was one thing that was troubling her a bit to think about. Sure, they'd held hands, hugged as a greeting and when they were particularly happy, but there was more to relationships than that.

So, when Chloé had tucked her hair into a ponytail and walked towards the front door, Marinette trailed beside her and blurted out, “Why haven't we kissed yet?”

Chloé paused, turning slowly to look at her with what could only be described as an incredulous expression before her eyes narrowed.

Marinette shifted her feet, feeling a bit put on the spot from the sudden attention. When it became clear that she wasn't going to get a response, she exhaled audibly and mused, “You're glaring at me.”

“The sun is in my eyes,” Chloé deadpanned.

She tried not to laugh. “It's almost midnight.”

“I'm surprised you're smart enough to realise that.”

Rather than be offended by it—perhaps she would've been when they first met—Marinette didn't hide her smile. She grinned, the smile reaching her eyes, and asked softly, “Are you waiting for me?”

“You might have a meltdown if I just kiss you out of nowhere,” was the muttered reply she received, and that just made her smile wider. “You don't have to look so smug about it, Marinette.”

“I'm sorry.” She covered a laugh with a awkward cough, reaching out and gently taking one of Chloé's hands into her own, interlacing their fingers together. “I'm—I think you're sweet, that's all.”

Chloé scoffed. “Waiting for you to stop being so scared isn't sweet.” Then, her actions contradicted her words as she squeezed Marinette's hand lightly, a comforting move that she hadn't quite expected.

“It's definitely sweet,” she answered softly, shoes almost touching as she shuffled forward. “Can I kiss you?”

They were close enough that she could feel the warmth of her breath when Chloé sighed. “You don't have to ask me for everything in advance—”

“I've got to make up for your lack of manners!” she interjected with a laugh, boldly pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of Chloé's mouth. “If you're going to be such a prat about it, I'm definitely not going to makeout with you.”

Pulling a displeased expression, Chloé laughed. “I can't believe you really just used those words while being a tease.”

With an exaggerated frown, Marinette took her hand back and crossed her arms, keeping them to herself as she muttered, “I'm trying to badly seduce you and you're laughing at me.”

“How does it feel to be on the receiving end of your techniques being rejected?”

She pulled a face. “You've never tried to seduce me sincerely.”

“I gave you _flowers_.” Tucking some blonde hair that had escaped her ponytail behind her ear, she added on, “It's not my fault that you're so skittish around affection.”

“Skittish?” she repeated, a bit amused at the word choice. “I—taking things slow is always better than rushing, isn't it? I don't want you to regret anything.”

Chloé sighed. “Marinette, I'm the one that practically forced you into a relationship, remember? This—what's happening between us—it's not platonic. You're just worrying too much.”

Well, that hadn't exactly been on her mind. A smile blossomed on her lips as she tentatively replied, “I already know that.”

It wasn't hard to see; there wasn't anything platonic about the way her face felt hot when Chloé smiled brilliantly when they were together, or the way she caught herself watching her from the corner of her eyes, spying on her doing the most mundane tasks, even when Chloé was just working. There was no doubting that they'd been taking it slowly—they'd been dating for almost a month, seeing each other for longer—but it hadn't been from her shyness.

“I—this will probably come out badly, but take this the best way, okay?” Marinette started, licking her lips nervously as she fiddled with her clothing at her sides, meeting the curious gaze that was sent her way. “I know that your job makes your life really sexual, so—”

The tone was undoubtedly incredulous as Chloé retorted hotly, “You've got to be _fucking_ with me.”

“ _So_ ,” she interjected, putting emphasis on the word, “I thought that being frustratingly slow would make you realise that I'm being serious about—about, well, us.”

Instead of continuing to talk, they stared at each other instead, both with comically straight faces. Marinette's slipped first, forming a grimace as she awkwardly raised a hand to touch the nape of her neck, feeling a bit self-conscious from the lack of reply.

The silence was ruined from Chloé bursting into laughter. The sound was muffled from her covering her face with her hands, shoulders visibly shaking as she continued to laugh without trying to lower the volume. Marinette shifted on the spot, aware of the warmth that had appeared on her face from the reaction, and it only grew worse when Chloé's laughter turned breathy and quiet, turning into wheezes more than hearty chuckles as they had been before.

“You don't have to laugh this much at me,” she muttered, a bit of a whine to her voice. “I—it sounded like a good idea, okay?”

Chloé sucked in an audible breath to try and calm herself down. “You're such an _idiot_.”

Marinette had to smile at the cracking of her voice. “Yeah, I am.”

“Fuck, you really are,” Chloé agreed as her hands dropped from her face, revealing the redness that had seeped onto her face from the laughing fit. There was a bit more moisture in her eyes, too, but not enough to cause the minimal make-up to smudge. “But for some reason, you're mine.”

“All thanks to a tramp stamp,” she agreed, reaching out and pushing some of the loose hairs away from Chloé's face. “I'm going to kiss you now.”

Chloé raised her eyebrows challengingly. “It's not like you to not ask questions.”

The kiss was awkward at first. Marinette had kept her hand cupping Chloé's jaw gently as she pressed her lips softly against hers, having to tilt her head back to get to the right angle. It took a few moments for Chloé to take pity on her and reciprocate, correcting their stance to make it comfier as she wrapped her arms loosely around Marinette's waist in a way that was reminiscent to the embraces they'd shared previously.

From her enthusiasm, Marinette's might've knocked their teeth together a few times, feeling Chloé's smile that was surely a bit smug against her own, but it didn't take away from the experience. There was an increase to her pulse, breaths coming fast as the kiss was prolonged, but her hands weren't clammy or shaking from the nerves, and she wasn't worrying about all the things that could've gone wrong.

She was pleased with the soft and warm feelings, focusing on them as well as the breath that was against her skin, her other hand reaching out to rest upon Chloé's clothed hip. They were almost pressed against each other, a loose embrace that made her feel only positive things, and all she could do when they parted was smile widely, knowing that it reached her own eyes.

From the reddened lips, shy smile, and the colour that was on Chloé's face, she was sure that her own face was in much the same state as she grinned happily, quickly pulling her into an embrace as she wrapped her arms around her middle, cheek resting against Chloé's neck, glad for the ponytail not being in the way.

“Definitely not platonic,” she confirmed, a bit breathless.

Chloé pinched her side gently. “You're an absolute idiot.”

“So you keep telling me,” she sang. “I'm pretty sure you wouldn't have me any other way, though.”

“Sadly, I'm stuck with you,” Chloé murmured, voice louder than usual due to Marinette's ear against her neck. “You don't have to hold back because of my job, you know.”

Then, to her surprise, Chloé's hands ran along her back, fiddling with the material and being more jittery than usual. It was as close to a nervous tick as she'd seen before, and from how little distance there was between both of them, she was sure that Chloé could feel her smile, even if she couldn't see it.

For once, she'd almost managed to give an intelligent answer, but all that came out instead was, “I'm not jealous.”

Chloé stilled. “What?”

It was something that she'd mostly rambled to herself and Kim about, but at that moment, she wanted to convey her thoughts well, leaving no chance of a misunderstanding. Marinette licked her lips, a stall tactic despite them not looking at each other, and instead moved her head a bit to get comfortable.

“I—” Marinette cleared her throat, a bit relieved when Chloé went back to fiddling and tracing random patterns on her back. “With your job. You told me, before, that you're only involved with yourself— _I_ —”

“It's just a show, Marinette,” was said quietly. “I'm not actually romantically interested with any of them, and they're definitely not doing anything more with me than watching.”

She swallowed. “Yes, exactly.”

“It's thrilling, though,” Chloé shamelessly added on. “The exhibition thing—I _like_ that people are watching. The compliments and attention are just—they're nice, and they make me feel... I don't know what word to use.”

That had been her thought process, especially with the last bit that was added on. “That's fine? As—as long as you don't, you know, catch feelings for anyone on there.”

She could feel it as Chloé laughed. “Catch feelings?”

“I'm not really into the whole sharing thing,” Marinette murmured. “I might not be able to satisfy your exhibition kink, but that doesn't mean I'm okay with you running off with anyone else.”

Chloé sounded amused as she asked, “Are you going to get all flustered when I kiss you in public?”

“Probably? Especially if it's out of nowhere,” she admitted. “I might need a bit of warning so I don't make a fool of myself.”

“Are you trying to come across as a sweet and innocent child again?”

She hummed. “If I say yes, does that mean I can't ask you to stay the night and sleep in my bed with me?”

“Giving me some ugly pyjamas would probably even it out so you're pure again,” Chloé replied, moving back from their embrace to tuck some hairs behind her ear as Marinette took a step back. “I fucking hope you're not joking about letting me stay here. I'm tired as hell.”

She grinned. “I promise to let you have your allotted time for beauty sleep without waking you up.”

Chloé haughtily raised her chin up as she walked past. “I'm taking the best pillow because of that.”

“The joke's on you, they're all bad!” Marinette called after her.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://xiueryn.tumblr.com) ('▽^人)♥


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